


Followed Memories, Found Friends

by Haospart



Series: No Real Choices [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Old Friends, Reunions, and he's space pirate santa, and the 'u gotta prep it tho' thing can eat me, because i really like short ranged teleports, i made a whole ass character specifically for ultra fluffy reunion stuff, no beta we die like men, phase walking used funky, post-main story stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28938720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haospart/pseuds/Haospart
Summary: Zal hasn't seenanyonefrom before Korriban since, well, before Korriban.  Those memories aren't pleasant.  But that's onlymostof them.  Some memories are tangled up with something happier, because of the people in them.  But those people live on, beyond the confines of what's been remembered.  And sometimes, just sometimes,  they find you again.Zal meets an old friend.
Series: No Real Choices [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186013
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: Continuity:  Love and Everything





	Followed Memories, Found Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Featured Characters:  
> \- Sith Inquisitor - Zal-hessah Vooretta  
> \- Side Character - Warhabel

The last few weeks had been taxing, unbelievably so, as Zal skipped from port to port, following the trail of a dangerous and mind-altering artefact that had been carelessly sold to those unaware of its disastrous qualities. It caused paranoia, which prompted those exposed to it for an extended period of time to flee their area, and attempt to push it off onto someone else as it entered the later stages. As desperation to _get rid of it_ set in, those affected became violent and began seeking more aggressive ways to pawn it off on someone new.

As soon as it was out of their possession though, the person who had given it up would be overcome with the overwhelming need to have it back.

It was destructive and dangerous, and changed hands at every port it went through, so Zal followed it. He'd finally caught at the last spaceport and contained it in his private quarters on his Fury. This new port was just a final check over the path it had followed, to ensure no lasting damage would taint the areas it had travelled through.

He sighed, leaned heavily against the duracrete wall. They’d been long days and longer nights it seemed. He’d drilled the dead for whatever information they could provide about the artefact as he’d chased it, and they’d been surprisingly forthcoming with what they knew. Perhaps too forthcoming, as it took hours each night to get everything out of them, and longer still to keep the ghostly menagerie on topic.

He dragged his hands down his face, then undid his ponytail and retied it. It was a fatigued gesture, less to re-establish any sort of decorum or appearance and more of a habit, trying to keep his loose bangs out of his eyes.

He took the moment to breathe, just to recover from the constant activity of the last weeks. Finally some rest, and hopefully he would have a week where nothing was catastrophically failing that would require his specific attention.

_Good luck with that, Forcewalker,_ a warbling voice laughed in his ear. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated response to the long dead Sith.

“ _Ha ha,_ I bet you think you’re funny,” he mumbled under his breath.

_Immensely_ , came the response, which Zal ignored. Best not to encourage them.

Instead, he turned his attention to the spaceport. It was loud, somewhat crowded in areas but it was concentrated in clusters. Life pulsed even in the spaces between, and shied away from the steady death that slowly seeped from the Sith. It was self contained, for the most part, only requiring the slightest fraction of a mind to pull the ever-seeking, twisted, leeching effect away from the steady eb and flow of vitality.

He felt through the space, gently skimming the surfaces of the minds of those nearest to him with a featherlight touch of his own mind. No one would even notice him, unless they happened to be particularly in tune with the Force, and paying attention to their own minds. When he’d contented himself with the lack of the distinct pressures of the artefact’s mental effect he pushed himself up and away from the wall.

A laugh caught his attention for a moment. It was somewhat distant, but loud and full, familiar. He waved it off though, pushed the faint hint of recognition down as it rose. Laughter like that was a relic of a different, more treacherous time, when the air burned to breathe day in and day out, and slowing down in work was the final seal on the missive of your death. It was laughter in spite of the circumstances, joyous in the face of hell, out of place in its circumstances. It fit here though, in the relatively safe and calm port.

It was filled with a life that permeated the area, and still clung to his memories despite the death and decay that he’d embraced as a Sith.

He found himself, even as he pushed down the thoughts and memories that threatened to rise, moving forwards and following the sound of joy. Chatter slowly became audible, as he took the steady, absentminded steps forwards. Again the booming, rolling laugh filled the air, louder than the rest of the laugher’s companions. It was infectious, and Zal found himself beginning to grin in spite of himself.

He followed the sound, around several corners and weaving between wandering travellers. He couldn’t place why, and though several ghosts voiced confusion at his sudden change in direction he had no response for them.

He was following a memory. Something _good_ that he remembered, and he had to find it before it slipped away.

He hit a crossroads in the hallways, and the laughter petered out. Unfortunate timing. The particular meeting of halls was particularly crowded, and when most of the travellers are taller than you it is difficult to find any specific person. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but he was following his gut and _it_ certainly seemed to know.

Zal spun in place, turning and craning his neck, stood on his toes for what little advantage the extra height gave him. With a huff of breath he lowered himself back onto his heels. This wouldn’t do, and every attempt at moving forwards through the crowd was blocked.

A moment more of failed attempts at movement and Zal conceded defeat. He couldn’t get through with force of will or presence, but he _did_ happen to be a Sith. He took a deep breath in and took one step forwards, into pure Dark. He stepped through Shadow, and emerged on the other side, out of the crowd and less than a pace away from a wall, around the corner from where he’d been. He let out the breath while shaking off the shivers of stepping _through_ something not necessarily material.

With a shake of his head and shoulders, he sloughed off the residual energy and shook it out of his head. When he’d gotten his full bearings, really only a moment or so, he looked up to take stock of his surroundings.

A familiar face greeted him in his line of sight. Years and years older, and with greyer hair than he’d ever had before, but the same round, time worn face, the same curls in his long, thick hair and beard. The exact same eyes despite the newer wrinkles that framed them, warm, deep, and friendly.

He was the same shape too, an enormous man by any standard. Large, barrel chested, and powerful. He was tall, far taller than Zal was, though that wasn’t difficult considering his own diminutive stature, and took up as much space with his personality as he did with his body. No part of him could be considered _small_ by any measure, and Zal was almost certain that this man’s fingers might be as thick around as the Sith’s wrists, if not his actual arm.

_Warhabel_ . An old, _old_ friend, from before Zal had been sent to Korriban, from before the Force had presented itself and his aptitude for it. No, this was an older friend than the Force’s presence in Zal’s life, from back when he was a slave. From when they _both_ were.

It took only another moment of shock, _astounded_ at the reappearance of such an old presence, to get over it and bark, surprised, the man’s name.

“Bel?”

The man stopped, _Warhabel_ stopped. He stopped in his conversation, turned towards the abrupt shout of his name.  
  
“Warhabel?”

He focused on Zal. He _focused on Zal_. That was the only remaining confirmation Zal needed, that he had the right person, that he wasn’t losing his mind to old memories.

“Bel!” he laughed, an honest, open expression of delight breaking out across his face with the disbelief and relief of familiarity.

“Ziv?” Warhabel’s deep, warm tone was tempered with confusion, no doubt not expecting to see Zal’s face again. He’d been shipped off to Korriban, sparking and nearly catatonic when they’d last seen each other.

It took no further prompting, Zal broke out into a run, making a beeline towards Warhabel. His boots, the only pieces of armor he ever bothered to wear, clanked when they collided with the hard, solid flooring. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest as he sprinted at the old, jolly man.

Someone particularly unaware of their surroundings stepped into his path, only a pace or so in front of him, but that wasn’t going to slow him down. He sucked in a quick breath to hold, and barrelled forwards into a quickly rising, twisting shadow, emerging out of a twisting darkness just a few steps on the other side of the intervening person.

He let out the breath and laughed. He didn’t bother shaking the residual shadows out of his mind or off the tail of his coat or the bottoms of his boots, he continued onwards.

The moment he was close enough, Zal launched himself at Warhabel, who caught him in his arms and pulled him in, lifting him several feet into the air into a near-crushing hug. Zal wrapped his arms around Warhabel’s neck, still laughing, and slowly realizing that Bel was too.

The large man had a full-bellied laugh, still getting over the shock of such an unexpected reunion. It felt like an eternity later, and yet only a second at the same time, that Warhabel finally leaned back forwards, setting Zal back onto solid ground. He kept his hands on Zal’s shoulders though. He was right about how large the older man’s hands were, it would take no effort for them both to fully encompass his head, and even his shoulders could hardly fit into his palms.

But even with the sheer size of the man in front of him, Zal didn’t feel small. Tears collected in his eyes, some unidentifiable emotion overwhelming him. Relief? Joy? It was hard to pin down, if it was even a single emotion at all. Whatever it was, tears spilled and ran down his cheeks, which began to ache with the force of his smile.

“Hey little songbird, you’ve gotten older,” an understatement, but Warhabel was never one for grand, elaborate speeches. He hadn’t changed much, at least not in this.

“I don’t think I’m much of a songbird anymore. But I-- _stars_ , Warhabel-- Bel I thought you were _dead_ ,” Zal managed another sniffling laugh and shuffled, unsure of quite how to proceed, “I didn’t think you’d make it so long.”

Warhabel chuckled, raised an eyebrow at Zal, “Same to you, Zal-hessah. Rumor had it that you were being sent to Korriban. You’re scrappy, a survivor, I’ll give you that, but in the state you left I wasn’t sure you’d keep that living streak of yours.”

The old man took in Zal’s appearance, the ratty, dirty old trench coat covered in bloodstains and the remnants of whatever planet he’d been to last, the well-crafted armor of his boots, and his shadowed, darkened face. He surveyed the cracks around his eyes, the faintest glow in the broken skin and the brilliant red of his eyes.

“You’ve seen more than I ever will, it seems,” he said, finally, with a smile, “But you’re better for it now.”

Zal rolled his eyes, unable to remove the grin from his face even so, “You’ve no idea.”

“I think I have some-- you’ve picked up some tricks over the years. You ran through someone and neither of you seemed to feel a thing, for one.”

That was… an excellent point actually. And it might be, perhaps, a bit quicker to explain the truth of what had happened with fewer words.

Zal hummed, his expression dropped in thought. He chewed on his lower lip and looked down to the floor, then steeled himself and met Warhabel’s eyes again.

“I-- How much do you know of _Darth Inpulsa_ , Bel?” he asked, slow and steady, measured.

“Inpulsa? Not much,” Warhabel conceded with a slow shrug, though the suspicion crept onto his face slowly, “They’re powerful, full of the trapped dead, a sometimes-member of the Dark Council? And I know what their lightsaber looks like. Nothing much beyond that. It has a rose on the back of it or something, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a lotus,” Zal corrected, slowly, then unhooked his lightsaber from his belt, under his coat. He lifted it before his old friend, presenting the gentle lotus on the back end of the hilt, and the harsh, insectoid pincers that framed the emitter and switch.

Silence fell between them as Zal let the other man take that information in. Several empty, pensive moments, even as the port around them bustled with its usual activity.

“You’re Sith,” Warhabel finally said, calm, matter-of-fact.

“Yes. I’m Sith. I’m a Darth.”

Warhabel hummed, but didn’t make a move to do anything further for what felt like an eternity.

“Is the trapped dead true?”

Zal blinked, “What?”

“The dead,” Bel repeated, “Are you full of them?”

“Of all things-” the Sith laughed, shook his head in a fond disbelief as he clipped his lightsaber back to his belt, “Yes. Somewhat. I’m a Forcewalker. I can bind the spirits of the dead to me. I have five dead Sith sharing my head with me right now, but they are no more trapped than the wind. They agreed to come with me.”

“Are they the reason you can do the,” he waved generally, indicating Zal as a whole, “walking through people?”

“As far as I’m aware, that’s all me. It’s not something I’ve picked up from hunting ghosts.”

“Well then, if it’s you, we’ve got nothing to worry about, eh songbird?”

Zal couldn’t help the snort as he shook his head. Finally, he lifted his hand to rid his face of the slowly drying tear tracks. They had no place there, not with such a wonderful thing facing him again. He stuck his tongue out at Warhabel, “Never, Bel. Never from me.”


End file.
